


Steadfast

by TheSleeplessWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, John is a Good Friend, Johnlock - Freeform, Loyal John, M/M, Murder, Panic Attacks, Pre-Reichenbach, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: "J-John..." Sherlock attempted, his voice cracked and hoarse. His breathing quickened."Sherlock, calm down. What's wrong?" John asked urgently, recognizing the sound of panic in Sherlock's voice."I need your help." Sherlock paused and stared at the lifeless body that lay on the concrete floor. "I've just killed Moriarty's lover."





	Steadfast

Sherlock's blood stained fingers shook as he typed out John's number on his cell phone. He swallowed drily as the phone rang. 

"Hello? Sherlock?" John asked, having just said goodbye to a patient. 

Sherlock opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His throat felt tight and sore. 

"J-John..." Sherlock attempted, his voice cracked and hoarse. His breathing quickened. 

"Sherlock, calm down. What's wrong?" John asked urgently, recognizing the sound of panic in Sherlock's voice. 

"I need your help." Sherlock paused and stared at the lifeless body that lay on the concrete floor. "I've just killed Moriarty's lover."

\--------

John could hardly form excuses to Sarah as he bolted out the clinic. Sherlock had given him the address to an abandoned warehouse that was not too far away. Instead of wasting time looking for a cab, John ran the few blocks it was to get there. People looked at him strangely but let him pass. 

He made it to the warehouse in record time, even if he was sweating and panting tiredly. 

Sherlock was sitting on the hard floor and looked up when he heard John entering. His face and hands were smeared with dark blood.

Next to him lay something that could barely be called human. The body was terribly battered and bruised, blood slowly dripping to the floor. 

Sherlock's wide grayish eyes were watery and rimmed with red. His whole body was shaking like a leaf in strong wind. He tried to stand, but his lean legs wobbled too much. 

"Sherlock..." John said pityingly, rushing to help him. It was clear the man was suffering from a panic attack. His own head was swimming with panic and concern, but he shoved it down deep, using his soldier mindset. 

"I just wanted him to stop." Sherlock said softly, trying in vain to wipe away the dried blood on his face. He delicately placed his hands over his ears. His own breathing sounded too loud, flooding his mind. His heart was still thudding rapidly, a too fast drumbeat within his chest. Everything was too much. He felt bile rise up in the back of throat and struggled to swallow it. 

"You're okay, tell me what happened." John said in as calm a voice as he could muster, rubbing the top of Sherlock's head. His curls were stiff and sticky with blood

"I got a text to meet him here..."

\-------

"Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. 

Definitely soldier. Ex-soldier. It was completely in his demeanor. 

"I'm Moran, and it's Boss's birthday, and I've figured I could get him someone." 

Sherlock raised a brow and tensed, clenching his fists. Someone, not something. "Who, me? Well, I'm honored, but-"

"Not you. You're helping me pick. Now, he's got a bit of a doctor kink. I was thinking either that little brunette pathologist girl, or your buddy, the soldier." 

"You don't touch John." Sherlock said angrily, pointing at the man. 

"So, the little pathologist? Alright then-"

"No!" Sherlock interrupted. "Neither. Take me." 

Moran sneered. "He doesn't want you. Not for this. Make up your mind." 

Sherlock just stared at him. "No."

"Fine then. I'll take both. I have the feeling Boss'll like the soldier boy more, he's got a thing for blondes." 

"Stop." Sherlock ordered, but the man kept rambling. His fists were shaking with rage. 

"Course, I'll have to test him out first. Fuck him raw and hand him to Jim. Boss'll use him up for a few years and then sell him to some rich man with some...illegal fetishes." He continued, his raspy cigarette voice grating on Sherlock's ears. 

"Moran, stop." Sherlock repeated, stepping closer to him. 

Moran gave a cocked grin and leaned in close to Sherlock. "Your handsome blonde boy will make us a lot of money." 

His breathing haggard, Sherlock struck him hard in the mouth. Moran staggered backwards, reaching up to find his mouth bleeding. He glanced at his red stained fingers and shook his head, snickering. 

"You're a feisty fellow." He said, reaching for the gun at his hip. 

Adrenaline was coursing through Sherlock's body, crackling his skin like electricity. He was angry, really properly angry. Sherlock shoved him to the nearest wall, twisting his arm and making him drop the gun. He continued to attack him, punching and kicking without mercy. 

"Jim's right. You're interesting." Moran said as he started fighting back, swinging his left fist. 

Sherlock ducked and took hold of the long blonde hair, slamming his head against the wall one, two, three times. Blood started to flow, trickling down the man's tanned face. 

He still had that stupid smile. "Stop it!" Sherlock screamed, continuing to bash his head against the wall. His vision blurred with tears. "Stop laughing at me!" A few sickening cracks stopped him. 

"I think you've given Jim the best birthday gift you could give him." Moran said, coughing up blood. Both eyes nearly were swollen shut, and his lip was burst. He strained to speak. "You've given him incentive to destroy you." 

Moran reached up and stroked Sherlock's sharp cheekbone with muscled hands. "He will send you...to hell. See…you…there," He spoke as his body began to weaken and lose stability. He kept his icy blue eyes trained on Sherlock's. 

Sherlock watched as the very life slowly drained out of those eyes. Moran's body dropped to the floor, lifeless. His fingers were trembling and his stomach twisted. His head felt dizzy and his knees weak. Sherlock sunk to the floor and pulled out his phone. 

\--------

It was different than killing with a gun. A gunshot was a clear decision, and if done well, death came within the minute. Beating a man to death was personal and twisted. You could feel him dying underneath your own fingertips. 

With a gun, you shoot once and that was it. When beating a man, you could have stopped many times, but made the conscious decision to continue.  
\-----

A car pulled up near the building within minutes after John arrived. Mycroft carefully stepped out, a grim expression on his face. Sherlock and John walked out to meet him. 

"It will be hell explaining this." Mycroft said, stepping aside so Sherlock could enter the car. 

"It was self defense." John said, quickly coming to Sherlock's aid. 

"It does not matter whether or not it was self defense. Once he hears of this, Moriarty will hunt him down to the ends of the earth." Mycroft said bitterly, stomping the end of his umbrella on the sidewalk. I will not allow that to happen." 

John nodded, fully realizing the true disaster this situation was. "I'm coming with you." 

"Doctor Watson, I'll call a cab to be here within the minute. You can return to Baker Street and stay out of this." Mycroft reentered the car, getting ready to say his goodbyes. 

"I hate repeating myself. I'm coming with you." John said stubbornly, seating himself inside the car and slamming the door closed. 

"For the time being." Mycroft sighed. At least Sherlock knew how to pick loyal friends. 

\-----  
"You do understand life can never return to normal now?" Mycroft sat at his desk, placing his hands underneath his chin, similar to the way Sherlock did. 

"Of course." Sherlock said, after taking a sip of water from the glass in his hand. It was given to him so he could settle his disruptive stomach. He bit back the word "obviously". 

He had taken a brisk shower to clean off the dried blood that incriminates him. 

"We will cover up as best we can, but it is only a matter of time before Moriarty learns of what happened and forms a plan." He had a list of jobs prepared for the night. Sherlock needed to completely change his look, receive a new passport and identity. 

"Where are you sending him?" John asked, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. 

"Quebec. The exact city has not yet been confirmed. You'll need to brush up on your French, brother mine." Mycroft unfolded a map of the Canadian province and looked over it. 

"I guess I'll have to continue where Basic French left off." John said, remembering the horrid class. 

Mycroft, interrupted from his searching, looked squarely at John. "Doctor Watson, while your loyalty is admirable, there is no reason for you to go. You were not involved." 

"I don't think you understand. I promised Sherlock I'd not abandon him. I know countless others have." John spoke with a strong will in his voice. He was not going to be moved on this. 

"You will be living in constant fear, looking over your shoulder at all times. There will be no security. From one night to the next, you will have to hop from country to country in hopes that you will not be found." Mycroft challenged, wondering just how far was this soldier willing to go for his younger brother. 

John reached over from his chair and grabbed Sherlock's thin hand. He squeezed it comfortingly. Life was truly never going to be the same. Molly, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, they might never see them again. 

"I really do hate repeating myself. I'm going."

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that just couldn't leave my head, so I wrote it down. Let me know in the comments what you think! Feel free to leave kudos and constructive criticism. :)


End file.
